


What was necessary

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Necessary things [2]
Category: London Spy
Genre: M/M, bamf!alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bereft of everyone he loved, seeking a purpose in life, Danny creates a new career for himself. It leads him where he never dreamed he could return to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What was necessary

Danny had two choices after that late night visit. Two alternative ways how to handle the apparent fact of Alex’s continued existence and Scottie’s murder. He could have decided it was all crap, and gone along with Frances’s plan of going down in a blaze of glory, or he could believe it was true, and adjust his expectations and life accordingly.

The third option, doing nothing, wasn’t one.

He didn’t decide right away. He went upstairs, showered, cried, and drank some vodka. And cried again. He didn’t know why believing Alex was still alive made him weep, when he had wept so long and so hard over him being dead. It was Scottie’s fate that he couldn’t handle. Bad enough to believe Scottie’s depression had got the better of him, and that Scottie had chosen to leave him, bereft and alone. But that some scummy shit had forced his friend...his dearly beloved friend...to climb that tree...and with what threat?

It had to be against him, Danny knew. Scottie had died so Danny, a worthless, drug using slut with no job and no education, who couldn’t even offer himself to Scottie in a way that didn’t disgust the man, could live.

But Scottie had known Alex was alive. Scottie died so Danny would live, and one day, maybe, Alex would come home.

So if Danny threw away that gift, turned the inheritance into a fine way to drink himself to death, or went along with another certainly suicidal attempt to tell the ‘truth’, Scottie would really have died for fuck all.

Danny couldn’t do that to him. He couldn’t face the future for his own sake, but he could do it to honour Scottie, even if he never saw Alex again. A fate he had already accepted, so...he could accept it again, if it was to be.

So when Frances contacted him two days later, he told her he couldn’t go through with it. That Pavel and Sara had been threatened, and he couldn’t stand to lose any more friends. That was all he had to do. She couldn’t go ahead without him, and MI6 would make sure she didn’t even if she wanted to. He didn’t care what they did after that as long as nobody else died. He was tired of death, seeing it, grieving it, facing it. Frances would live, and maybe one day he could tell her the truth. Maybe he wouldn’t.

But what of him? Scottie had left him enough to live on until Danny was very old and frail, but now he was young and fit with a life full of no purpose. He had to have one to be worthy of Alex one day.

He decided since the only thing he really ever loved to do that didn’t involve Alex, was to write, he would do that. He would write, he would learn, he would work at it until he was as good as he could possibly be.

He started with Claire, though getting her agreement to meet took time. “We can’t talk about—” she said when he finally managed to find her in the library.

“I don’t want to talk about that. I want your help becoming a decent writer.”

She stared at him in obvious shock. “So you can tell...the story?”

“No. I’ve given up, Claire. They win. They always win. But I have a life now, and Scottie wanted me to do something better with it than I have been. So...writing. He said I have no conviction. I want to learn how I do that.”

“Not really my field, you understand...but I know someone. Do you have anything other than that notebook?”

Danny shook his head, conscious that the notebook was juvenile and disorganised, hardly something he wanted a professional to see.

“Ah. Then perhaps you should spend some time creating something I can show my friend. A short story, an outline for a longer book. Poetry even.”

“About what?”

She almost smiled. “That’s up to you, Danny. There are books about writing you could borrow from your local library, or buy. They’ll have ideas and exercises. Try that. I’m not going to waste my friend’s time if you can’t manage the basics. At the very least, you should try and work out what sort of things, what subjects you’d like to write about.”

“Okay.”

“I have to go. Call me...call me anyway. I’d like...maybe just to talk about him? Without the you know what?”

“Yeah. I’d like that too.”

She did smile then, briefly, then walked away.

“Right,” Danny said, to no one.

Not having any idea where the library closest to the house was, he decided to head for the Waterstones on Oxford Street, and spent silly money on a bunch of books, not all of them about writing. Because it occurred to him that it had been far too long since he had read for pleasure, or done anything that hadn’t involved finding out what had happened to Alex, grieving for Alex, or dealing with yet another pile of shit handed to him by the mysterious powers that be. Scottie had left him books too, but they weren’t really Danny’s thing. Or not yet, anyway.

If there was one thing he had plenty of, it was time. Time to read, time to learn. So, he decided to read a book a day if he could, and see where that got him. The writing guides were left to one side. He wasn’t ready for them.

 

*****

 

A month later, Danny had written something he could possibly consider showing someone who wasn’t a friend. He wanted to call Claire but before he could bring himself to do so, someone put an unaddressed, anonymous note under the door. “CHARLES TURNER ARRESTED, CHARGED WITH TREASON.”

He could find nothing on the internet but that didn’t surprise him. Should he call Frances? Would she call him?

No and no, he thought. It still didn’t mean Alex was safe if it were true, only that his bastard not really a father was out of the game. Would Alex ever find out? Would he care even if he did?

So Danny didn’t call Claire, but set to writing again. This time it was longer, and to him, better.

He called Claire, and she gave him her email address. He sent the second story along. She wrote back, “A very good start. Keep going.”

So, not good enough for her friend, but that was okay.

He kept going.

 

*****

 

Six months later, Claire invited him for coffee outside the university. He brought his latest work. She looked at it briefly. “That’s much better,” she said, looking pleased. “You must have worked hard.”

“I had a good reason.”

Her smile went sad. “Yes, I thought so. Mind if I show my friend?”

“Please?”

“Of course. How are you doing, Danny?”

 

*****

 

Six and a half months later he received an email from her friend, an author. The woman said she didn’t like to mentor strangers because she’d had bad experiences, but she would be willing to look over Danny’s next piece, and suggested a couple of books he should read. No promises other than that, but that was enough.

 

*****

 

A year later, Danny had a story accepted by a science fiction magazine. The pay was tiny, but it still meant he was published.

He kept going.

 

*****

 

Two years later, he submitted a book to a leading SF agent, with outlines for two more in the series. Two months later, the agent agreed to take him on.

Three months later, the book was sold to a major publisher, and he was contracted to write the rest of the series.

 

*****

 

Three years later his book about a society of humanoids who could not lie came out and was optioned by a Hollywood studio. He gave his advance to Sara, who was four months’ pregnant, and alone. Pavel had returned to Poland the year before, so Danny promised to be the baby’s guardian if anything happened to them.

The book was dedicated to S and to A, whom he loved.

 

*****

 

Five years later, the third book came out, as did the movie based on the first. Danny was invited to his third UK SF convention as the guest of honour.

Sara’s baby was a boy. She called him John Daniel. Danny signed all the forms he needed to, and hoped he would never need to use them.

He made a will and made the two of them the beneficiaries. He continued to support her financially. She talked about maybe going back and getting some proper qualifications. He would help her if she decided to do that

 

*****

 

Six years later, his agent suggested combining the release of his fourth book with an American tour and convention round. Danny didn’t know what would happen if he tried to leave the country, so he asked the air in the living room that question.

That night, he had a visit from someone from his past. This time, Neil simply signalled Danny to move to the basement, where ‘Mary’ waited for them. She looked older, tireder. “Good evening, Danny. You’ve done well since we last met.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Other than keeping you alive? No, no thanks.”

He felt a bit of a shit then, until he remembered why they had met up in the first place. “So, America?”

“You aren’t going to try and find Alex?”

“How the fuck would I do that? I have no idea where he is. Although I guess he must be in America from your reaction.”

“Not at all. But this is your first trip out of the country, and it’s not unreasonable to suppose that an excitable young man like yourself might think he could escape notice once away from Britain.”

“I’m not young any more. And in case you hadn’t realised, everywhere I go on this trip will be advertised. Everyone will know where I am, at all times. Send someone with me if you don’t believe me.”

She actually smiled. “I don’t think that will be necessary. You’re behaving rationally, and your success...is surprising, but welcome.”

“Scottie would be proud.”

She didn’t flinch. “Yes, he would be. You will be watched, Danny. Not as a threat, but for your own safety. You may be contacted. If you’re unsure if they are safe, you will have a number to call to verify it. It goes to me or Neil. Neil, if you would?”

Neil gave Danny a card, with a single number written on it.

“There was a man,” Danny said, reading the card. “A black man, American. One of yours?”

“No, but he’s on your side. He works for...well, I’m sure you can work out the possibilities.”

“He is to be my contact.” Not a question, a demand.

Mary tilted her head. “What if he’s unavailable?”

“Then I won’t talk to anyone else. I don’t trust _you_. Why would I trust someone I’ve never met?”

“But you don’t know him either.”

“He tried to warn me. That’s enough. Is there anything else?”

“No. I read your books. Quite enjoyable, I thought.”

“Thanks. Now, please leave.”

Behind him, he sensed Neil stiffen. Mary drew herself up. “Very well. Safe travels, Mr Holt. Enjoy your fans.”

Danny turned and walked up the stairs. They could let themselves out.

 

*****

 

America was much more than he expected, and a bit scarier. His book signings were full, and his convention appearances overbooked. He appeared on stage with the handsome stars of the movie, and dodged questions about his personal life. He had never made a secret of being gay, but his agent suggested not mentioning it until someone else did. He just told people he was single and too busy writing to look. It wasn’t a lie, but not the whole truth either. He had opportunities, offers, more than ever on this trip, but none of them were Alex, and nothing else would be good enough.

One of the actors was in the closet, and wistfully told Danny he wished he could be out, like him. “But then I’d be stuck being the gay best friend and doing shitty comedies.”

Danny listened sympathetically, and with some anger. Thirty years ago Scottie had sacrificed his career over this nonsense, and even with gay marriage now so accepted, people still wanted to be lied to. When would this shit ever end?

So at his next convention appearance, he casually mentioned he was gay. His agent sighed at him down the phone, but said it was up to him. None of the audience seemed to care, and if his book sales were affected, it was too early to tell.

Still, it felt good. Another binding loosened. Something else that couldn’t be used against him now.

He couldn’t stop himself hoping he might catch sight of Alex somewhere, somehow. Even though he didn’t really know if Alex was in the country, or that he would come to anything Danny was doing. Or if he even wanted to see Danny again. Because after what he’d been put through, what he had lost, maybe the simple thought of Danny made him sick.

All Danny had was the memory of that recording. _I love you._ It was true then. Maybe it was still true. Danny would likely never know.

But it was still true for Danny, and always would be.

 

*****

 

The last book signings were in New York, bringing to an end a two month-long tour with very little downtime. He had arranged for a two-week holiday at the end because it seemed a shame to be in this city and not see _something_. His agent had friends who were happy to let him stay with them. He hadn’t met them yet, but he had their number and address. He was in a hotel down town until he was finished with the tour.

He had three book signings to do, on successive evenings. The final signing wasn’t particularly well-attended compared with others on the tour, but he still didn’t finish until nine. Exhausted, Danny looked forward to a quiet last night in the hotel, and then tomorrow meeting his agent’s friends. Anonymous again, and this time, glad of it.

The manager at the Barnes and Noble took him out the back way, where a taxi should have been waiting. Instead, he found a black car with a black man standing beside it. Danny’s heart stuttered in shock. The manager clutched at his arm to stop him falling. “Mr Holt, are you all right?”

“I’m...I’m okay, Andy. Thanks. This is my ride.”

“Okay. Thanks again. It was such a pleasure.” He shook Danny’s hand, and maybe he did this for all the authors, but Danny took it as genuine, and hoped this wouldn’t be the last kind word someone said to him.

Andy went inside and the doors were locked. Danny didn’t move. The American walked toward him. “Nice to see you again, Danny.”

“Can’t say I feel the same,” Danny said, proud that his voice didn’t shake. “What do you want?”

“I need you to come with me.”

“No. Fuck off.”

“Danny, it’s for Alex. Come with me. You asked for me to be your contact, remember?”

Knees suddenly wobbly, Danny couldn’t make himself move. The American took his arm. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Danny let the man help him into the car. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see soon enough. It’s...uh...not good news. There’s been an accident.”

_Alex._

His mouth dry, Danny croaked out, “Why now?”

“You’re his next of kin, according to his paperwork. He’s not dead, Danny.”

Then why was it not good news? And why were they now, after all this time, letting Danny see him?

“Do you mind if I make a call?”

“Go ahead.” The man drove easily, quickly through the dark, busy streets. Obviously Danny was no threat to him. But was he a threat to Danny?

Danny called the number Neil had given him. Mary answered. “This is Danny Holt.”

“Danny? Where are you?”

“You know where I am. And you know who’s with me. I want to know what’s happened to Alex.”

“An accident. A real accident. He was crossing the street yesterday, and he was hit by a car.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Not as far as we know. You have decisions to make though. You can decide not to, in which case...others will.”

Danny’s hand clenched around the phone. “No. I’ll do what I have to. Will you help me?”

“As much as we can.”

“Am I in danger?”

A pause. “As much as you always were. Him...we don’t know yet. You can trust Ed.”

“The driver? Black guy?”

“Yes. You know his face. Trust who he tells you to trust, and no one else.”

Considering who was saying this, Danny could have laughed. “Why wasn’t I told yesterday?”

“It would have made no difference. Call me again when you’ve decided what to do.”

She hung up.

“Happy now?” Ed asked.

Danny didn’t answer. He was gathering his courage for what was coming, because all the hints added up to one thing—Alex was very badly hurt. Bad enough that his employers were prepared to leave him to Danny. But what did that mean in reality?

Twenty minutes later, far less time than he had expected, the car pulled into a basement car park underneath an anonymous building that could have housed anything from buses to nuclear missiles. Danny followed Ed through the brightly lit, almost empty parking area, and to a lift.

“What is this place?”

“Medical centre.”

They went to the sixth floor. As the lift doors opened, two men in badly fitting suits faced them. “You’ll need to be searched, Mr Holt.”

Danny submitted, surrendering his mobile phone when asked. Anything to get this over with faster. The place smelled like a hospital, but he couldn’t see past the small foyer. Once he was cleared, Ed took him out through double doors, and now things looked a bit more as Danny expected.

But nothing prepared him for what he saw when Ed showed him into an area labelled “ICU”. There was only one patient. His bearded face was unnaturally pale and half buried under breathing apparatus, his head partly shaved, and what was visible of his body either bandaged or in a cast. Monitoring equipment beeped monotonously. Danny had no way to tell if that was good or bad.

“Alex?” he whispered, going closer. Where was the man he so loved, in this mess?

A nurse stopped him touching the body in the bed. “Please be careful, sir. Mr Stanton’s in an induced coma at the moment. He may be able to hear you, even though he’s unconscious.”

“Coma?”

Ed took Danny’s arm. “Come outside. The doctor can explain.”

Danny didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t want to see Alex like this. If it was even Alex at all. He’d been fooled once. Was this another trick? “Is it really him this time?”

“Yes, that’s him. Come with me.”

A doctor waited for them outside. “This way, Mr Holt. I’m Dr Rajani.”

Danny allowed himself to be taken to a private room with comfortable chairs. Ed closed the door. “He’s in a coma. Why wasn’t I told?” Danny asked, glaring at the doctor, ignoring Ed.

“We were waiting to see if his condition stabilised. It was felt to be unnecessarily cruel to bring you here only to watch him die.”

Danny could have laughed. “Yes, you’re all so well known for your kind treatment of Alex’s friends. Tell me _now_.”

“Yesterday evening he was crossing the road when he was struck by a car. Happens a lot in New York, unfortunately. The car’s impact broke his hip, shoulder and two ribs. However, the worst of it was that his head hit the kerb, fracturing his skull on the left side. To minimise swelling, and because he needs to be on a ventilator, he’s been placed in a medical coma. We’ll start to bring him out of it in the next couple of days.”

“He’s not going to die?”

“Barring complications, we don’t think so. However.” The doctor steepled his hands. “Mr Stanton has suffered a severe traumatic brain injury to his left parietal.” He touched his head to indicate where. “Injuries to this area can affect many aspects of brain operation, including language, recognition of objects, writing....”

“And the ability to do mathematics,” Ed added.

“To write computer programs?” Danny asked. “He won’t be a genius any more?”

“We don’t know,” the doctor said. “It’s almost certain there will be impairment. He will need ongoing care for quite some time. Possibly for the rest of his life.”

“And...that’s why I have to decide?”

“Yes. His ability to work in his present occupation will be sufficiently impaired that he’ll no longer be...effective.”

“So you’re dumping him like a broken bike.”

The doctor pursed his lips. Ed said, “the term is ‘retirement’, not ‘dumping’.”

“I can take him with me? Home?”

“This is to be discussed,” the doctor said, just as Ed said “Yes”.

“Then he’s coming home. No discussion needed. I want to see him again. Will he know if I’m there? Will he recognise me?”

“Please wait, Mr Holt. None of this is as simple as you think. The medical issues, the security implications, need to be thrashed out. He may know you’re there at some level now. When he awakes, certainly. As for recognition...we think he should do eventually.”

“And he wants me here?”

Ed coughed. “He updated his next of kin details six years ago, and re-confirmed them every year since. You are his only named next of kin. Replacing his parents,” he clarified.

Six years ago. After his ‘father’ had been arrested, Danny realised. “Does his mother know?”

“No. We have no intention of telling her either. Whether you can...is to be discussed.”

“Is there somewhere I can stay, close by?”

“You can stay in this facility. You are cleared to do that.”

Danny hadn’t expected that. It would make things easier. “I have calls to make. To...Britain, and to my hosts here.”

“Understood,” Ed said. “You can use our phone. It will be monitored, of course.”

Danny didn’t care. What secrets did he have any more? “Let me see him first.”

The doctor led him back to the ward. Danny was allowed to stay without supervision, though the nurse remained to keep an eye on Alex.

 _Alex_. It was really him. The longer Danny looked, the better he could believe it. The cheekbones were his. His earlobes. The colour of his hair, though there was a little grey among the brown now. The beard was horrible, but then Alex might say the same about Danny’s own.

He bent to kiss Alex’s forehead. No movement, no reaction. “Is he in pain?” Danny asked the nurse.

“No, sir. The medication is to help with the discomfort of the ventilator. We’ll wean him off that tomorrow.”

“And when he wakes up?”

“We’ll do all we can to help,” the nurse said. “He’s a young man in top condition. That helps.”

“He...uh...always did,” Danny said, not really saying what he wanted to. He wiped his eyes. “I need to talk to some people. If he wakes up, tell him Danny is here.”

“Yes, I will. But he won’t wake up tonight. You go do what you have to. He’s in good hands here.”

Danny wished that he could believe that. Maybe it was true, maybe it was bullshit. But he had to believe it anyway.

 

*****

 

The Americans, put bluntly, couldn’t use a crippled non-genius, and had no interest in keeping him around for the hell of it. Their only concern was whether Alex would talk about the work he was doing, and that might mean holding him in protective custody until they were sure.

Danny wouldn’t allow that. Not now. “I’m bringing him home and you’re going to help me,” he told ‘Mary’. “You must have faced this before.”

“Yes, we have. Do you understand this is going to be a lifelong commitment? Unless you let his mother take over, of course.”

“No. Not now, not ever. Unless he wants it. He put me down to help. I’m doing it.”

“Very well. When he’s fit to travel, arrangements will be made. We have secure facilities here for sensitive patients.”

“A prison?”

“Don’t be silly, Danny. Do you imagine he’s the first injured spy we’ve dealt with? Are dealing with?”

Danny had to count on that. It was all he could do.

He called his agent, told her he was unavailable due to a family crisis for the foreseeable future, and asked her to please apologise to her friends. She said she understood. He didn’t care if she didn’t. He wasn’t leaving the hospital until Alex could.

Ed was apparently also staying for the foreseeable future, at least until Alex could talk and be moved. He stayed with Danny all the next day, while Danny, sleep deprived from bad dreams and worry, waited for news. He handed Danny a folded cutting from a newspaper. “This was in his apartment. The rest of his stuff is being cleared for release. You can have this though. It was on his desk.”

It was an advertisement for Danny’s appearances at bookstores in New York. _Alex had known._ He had been following Danny’s movements. “Where was he hit by the car?”

Ed looked him in the eye. “On the crosswalk outside that store you were signing in. He was coming to see you. He’d taken vacation time specially.”

“The car wasn’t—”

“No. If we wanted to stop someone with that kind of brain, we wouldn’t use a car. Just a stupid accident. He was probably distracted.”

Danny stared. “He was hit...because of me?”

“Alex tended to hyperfocus on things. Tends to, I mean. Once he was on a task, he didn’t really pay attention to anything else until he was done. But the driver was speeding. Fortunately he only hit Alex a glancing blow or he—”

“Would have died a hundred yards from me and I would never have known.” Danny stood to stare at the ‘window’—just an LCD screen with changing nature scenes. “Would you have told me?”

“Word would have gotten back to you.”

“And what happens now? Will your lot watch us forever?”

“Until we don’t need to,” Ed agreed. “You can get on with your life as you wish. You’ve been doing that, haven’t you?”

“I guess. The other side?”

“Once they realise Alex is impaired, we hope they’ll go away. The further he is from his work with us, the less importance he has. Out of date information is worthless.”

“One day we can be normal, you mean?”

Ed gave him a sad kind of smile. “Define ‘normal’, Danny.”

That evening, Dr Rajani said they were going to remove the ventilator. He suggested Danny didn’t watch because it was a distressing experience to see. “Afterwards, you can come in, if he’s stable.”

Danny was suddenly overcome with the need to vomit, and ran to the men’s room to do just that, though he only produced bile. He washed his mouth out and sat limply on the cold floor, wondering what the fuck had brought that on.

“Stress,” Ed said, walking in. “You’ve been wound up like a violin string all day. And you’ve had nothing to eat.”

“Mind reading now?”

“No, just knowing what this is like. Have you had anything but coffee all day?”

Danny couldn’t remember.

“Come on and I’ll get you some candy.”

“No thanks,” Danny said. The thought of food made him want to retch.

“You want to pass out in front of your boyfriend?”

“Leave me alone,” Danny snapped.

“Nah. They’re going to be another twenty minutes at least. Eat something. Crackers, anything.”

Danny didn’t care to be bullied, but Ed was more determined than he was, and fed him crackers from a stash he had until Danny’s stomach stopped roiling. “Feel better?”

Danny made a face. “I guess. What’s taking so long?”

“You ever seen someone be extubated?” Ed snapped. “It’s not quick or easy, and they have to do a shitload of tests to make sure he’s breathing right. You want them to fuck this up by going too fast?”

Okay, so Ed’s patience had limits, it seemed. “No,” Danny said meekly. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Waiting is hard. But you gotta pace yourself. This could be years of your life. What’s a few minutes?”

“I already waited seven years.”

“Then this is nothing.”

Danny forgot for a moment that Ed was part of the machine that had ripped Alex away from him. But only for a moment. “Considering I was never supposed to see him again,” he said coldly.

“‘Never’ is a tricky word in the spy game,” Ed said, half smiling. “One minute we’re all up in Russia’s face during the Cold War, then we’re buddies forever. Then Putin gets in, and it’s back to being enemies forever. Half the time you spend chasing a bunch of bogies, next minute you’re being told to pal up to them and share your work. Gets confusing, let me tell you.”

“I can imagine. I should write a book about it.”

“Those books of yours, I liked them a lot. Bought some for friends.”

“Big of you.”

“Wasn’t doing it as a favour, kid. There’s the doctor now.”

Dr Rajani stood at the door. “He’s now just on oxygen as a precaution. He’s awake, Mr Holt.”

Danny jumped to his feet. “Can I see him?”

“Can you remain calm, and not shocked by any deficits? He can’t really talk much, although he may understand much better than he seems to.”

“I’ll be calm.”

“Ten minutes then. He needs a lot of rest and he’s just had a difficult procedure. Don’t encourage him to talk. He’ll become frustrated.”

Heart thumping, guts in a knot, Danny followed the doctor into the ICU again. Alex no longer had the breathing tube in his mouth, though a clear oxygen mask covered his face. His eyes were half open, but as Danny approached, he turned his head a little.

“Hey,” Danny said, his voice choking. He reached for Alex’s hand, still connected to some kind of monitor. “It’s me, Danny.”

Alex’s mouth moved, as if he was trying to speak. “No, don’t, love. They said to wait a bit.”

Alex’s fingers moved under Danny’s, as if trying to hold them. Danny shifted his grip so he could. “Are you okay with me being here? Blink if you are.”

Alex blinked immediately, and his mouth formed a slight smile. Danny’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh...good. I’m going to take you home, love. Home to England. Is that okay?”

Alex blinked hard again, his fingers tightening a little. “I’m going to be with you. No one’s taking you away from me again, ever.” Danny kissed Alex’s forehead. Alex’s beautiful eyes, so well remembered in Danny’s dreams, were wet. “Hey, no crying,” Danny said, his own voice choking with tears. “We’ve had enough weeping, Alex. Time for something better.”

He stroked Alex’s forehead, his love trying to keep his eyes on Danny as long as he could, until pure weariness forced them closed. The nurse came in then and gently drew Danny away. “He’ll do that for a bit, waking and sleeping. He needs a lot of rest.”

“Is...there anything I can do? To help?”

“Be here when he needs you. And get enough rest and food to be strong when he does. It’s going to be a long journey for you both.”

“I don’t care if it’s to the end of my life. I’ve waited long enough.”

“That’s the spirit. Go on, get some sleep. He’ll be okay here.”

For the first time, Danny really believed he would be.

 

*****

 

For the third time in his life, Danny had a mission. The first time was to find out what had happened to his lover believed to be dead. The second was to make a life worthy of his dead friend. And now he had to find a way to make Alex’s life the best it could be, even with potentially profound disability.

Alex was at least six weeks away from being able to travel. He was already started on physical therapy, and despite the expected weakness on his right side, his left side was surprisingly strong and capable. He could already use his left hand quite well despite being right-handed before the accident. Danny was determined to make sure his speech and recognition issues were addressed just as quickly, since the earlier and more intensively therapy was begun, the better the results. He had looked up everything he could about what difficulties Alex might face, and demanded that the Americans treat their patient as if they intended to keep him, not throw him away like trash. A speech therapist was brought on board to begin work immediately. When Alex wasn’t having physical therapy, he was either resting with Danny at his side, or working with the speech therapist.

And when Danny wasn’t sleeping, eating or working with Alex, he was doing his level best to arrange things back home for his lover’s return, with Sara’s help. Alex’s mobility would be affected by the brain injury long term and by the broken hip in the short term, so Sara organised a chair lift from the basement into the house, bathroom modifications, and mobility aids in the second bedroom. Danny couldn’t assume Alex would want to sleep with him at all, let alone immediately, and wouldn’t allow it until Alex could unequivocally consent. It didn’t matter if they did or didn’t. Danny wanted him like burning fire, but just knowing he was alive and with him was enough for now.

Mary said there were therapists with security clearance who could work with Alex either at home or at a clinic. Danny intended to shamelessly exploit any guilt MI6 felt about what had been done to the two of them, and make them bloody work for the man they almost destroyed.

‘Almost’ was the important bit. When Alex was awake, the doctors and therapists clustered around. Danny had as few as five minutes some days when could be alone with Alex while he was conscious. Alex’s speech, though improving with astonishing speed, was still slow and difficult for him, and though he was able to read and tap words on a tablet, Danny did most of the talking. He told him about Scottie, about Danny’s parents, about how Danny had made the decision to make something of himself. About the books, and how every story wove Alex into them in ways so subtle MI6 didn’t care, but which gave them life in Danny’s head.

All this came out in fits and starts. There was more silence than speech, but Alex said much with his eyes, Danny with his hands. That hadn’t changed. Alex loved, needed to be touched.

Danny didn’t mention Frances. Not that he’d ever met her, or what had happened to her sewer rat husband. If Alex asked, he would tell him. He didn’t.

It was a week before they kissed properly, Alex’s mouth drooping a little on the right side, weakened by the injury. Danny had only meant to kiss his cheek, but Alex suddenly turned his head, and their lips met. Clumsily Alex’s tongue asked permission, and Danny granted it. He didn’t taste right, but that was okay. Danny fell into it, and for a few precious seconds, everything was back the way it should be.

Though it wasn’t and likely would never be completely. Danny sat back, stroking Alex’s cheeks, happy tears falling over his own smile. “I thought you might have forgotten how.”

“Nuh.” Alex fixed him with his gaze. “Nuh,” he said more forcefully.

‘No’? ‘Never?’ One or the other. “Me either,” Danny said. “Not if I lived to be a hundred and ten.”

He sat with Alex until his love fell asleep again. Never could he have forgotten this man. Never could another one hope to replace him.

 

*****

 

Seven weeks after the accident, Danny took Alex home to England. Alex was now Alexander Scott, and British again. He was entitled to a civil service disability pension, and a discreet lump sum from the American side in exchange for Alex’s silence. It would help to pay for the expense of a live-in nurse if they needed one, but even if it didn’t, Danny would have paid. Alex was coming _home_ , not to some bloody care centre or military hospital. ‘Mary’ agreed without a quibble, which probably meant it was what MI6 wanted in the first place.

Sara met them at the airport with a second-hand wheelchair-capable car Danny had asked her to buy. She hugged Danny and John Daniel giggled at him. It struck Danny then how much he needed Sara in his life, not just for help. He had too few real friends to be careless with them any more.

“Alex, this is Sara and John Daniel.”

Alex smiled at the two of them, and put up his left hand to pat the baby’s hand. “Hi. Nice see you.”

“You remember me?” Sara asked as Danny wheeled Alex onto the ramp.

Alex nodded. “All.”

He remembered everything, Danny had discovered. Everything but a couple of hours before the accident, and the accident itself. Danny wished he didn’t remember some things, but Alex’s mind didn’t work that way.

Sara drove them back home. Alex had never been to Scottie’s house, but liked it immediately. The only problem came when Danny wheeled him to the door of the newly modified second bedroom. Alex put his left hand on the doorframe and forced Danny to stop. “You...not. You?”

Danny came around to face him. “I thought you might like to have your own bed for now.”

Alex grabbed his shirtfront and glared. He didn’t need to say anything.

“Right. Well, we’ll just make some adjustments then, shall we?” Behind Alex, Sara covered her grin.

An hour later, the hoist and other equipment was re-established in the main bedroom. Danny, in theory, could lift Alex in and out of bed into the chair, with the hoist, help him with toileting and bathing. In reality, he wasn’t sure if he could. Alex, even after weeks stuck in a bed most of the time, was still bigger and heavier than him. Neither of them liked the idea of a live-in nurse who would probably end up being a spy for MI6. “Should I organise some help?” Danny asked Alex. “Maybe for a month or so.”

“Sara can?” Alex said as he looked at their new, shared accommodation. “Food, wash?”

“Sara might,” Danny said, looking at his friend. “What do you think?”

“What do I think of what, Danny?”

“Want a live in position as a housekeeper? For the two of you?”

“For real? That would be fantastic!” Her current accommodation was a small room in a cramped and ugly council flat owned by a friend of a friend. She’d wanted to move for some time.

“Paid position, of course. Proper rate.”

She hugged him. Then hugged Alex, who grinned. “I knew you were a genius,” Danny said, giving his love a kiss.

Tired and jetlagged as they were, Alex and Danny practiced using the hoist, getting Alex in and out of bed until Danny was sure he could do it solo. “No nurse,” he announced gleefully.

“No,” Alex said. The word was more slurred than usual. He needed to go to bed.

Sara said she would return the following morning. The fridge was stocked, and there was no need to go anywhere today. All Danny wanted to do was lie next to Alex for the first time in too many years.

Lying still under the covers, his broad chest barely marked by the accident and his beard gone, Alex looked like the man Danny remembered. Did he look the same to Alex?

“Are you happy, love?”

Alex reached for Danny’s hand. “Yes. Everything.”

“Me too.”

 

*****

 

Sara came back the next day and moved in more or less immediately. John Daniel’s presence would mean toddler proofing the place soon, and Scottie’s lovely collection of objects would have to be moved. He would have understood, Danny hoped.

Alex restarted therapy two days after their return. The British physical therapist was pleased by his progress. Even more pleased was his speech therapist, who said his progress was remarkable.

Danny was delighted but he was careful not to make Alex’s progress too visible outside the house. He was almost sure MI6 were done with him provided neither of them told what they knew, but there were enemies he couldn’t see, who might think Alex was still worth snatching. On another nocturnal visit, this time to see Alex’s current state, Mary said MI6 would maintain surveillance for some time, but exactly how long, she wouldn’t say.

“Even if Alex recovered to the point where his mathematical abilities were as good as most people’s, even better, that still wouldn’t make him worth taking.”

Danny heard the warning in her words. Alex could not be a genius again, even if he was.

“I can be bad,” Alex said, his smile lifting Danny’s heart. “Very terrible.”

“Not to me.”

While Alex worked, so did Danny. He had a family to provide for now, so he had to keep writing. Sara kept the house cleaned, and when she had time, helped with research. Danny was preparing her to be Alex’s assistant when he was ready for one. He had already started pecking at a computer with his left hand, though not to do anything remotely close to his programming. Alex was not yet forty, and with his old career gone forever, he would have to find something he wanted to do with his life. Danny already knew what _he_ was doing with his—keeping the four of them safe.

Alex hadn’t brought much back from America. Clothes, mostly. A few books, an iPod. No computer of course—the Americans had taken that away. Sara put everything in the smallest bedroom which now served as a joint closet for Alex and Danny. Alex had shown no interest in any of it, not even the clothes. Danny suspected he would be happy to see it all given away to a charity shop, or possibly just thrown away.

However, Danny was curious to know what books Alex had read. Alex still found reading a trial, though it was getting easier. He preferred movies, or listening to the music Danny or Sara chose for themselves. He would even listen to one of them reading to John Daniel, apparently enjoying the experience. Perhaps he had never had that, Danny thought. Frances wasn’t really a kid’s book type. Charles would have left it to a servant if he thought about it at all, which he most likely never did. Whatever the truth, Alex liked watching the baby, even taking him on his lap from time to time. John Daniel didn’t mind that Alex couldn’t speak clearly sometimes, and still got his words mixed up. All he needed was a warm body, a pair of arms, and endless patience.

But Alex needed more than a baby’s babbling to keep his mind alive, to stimulate him. So a month after their return, at a loose end while Alex napped, the baby beside him, Danny got the box marked “Books and papers” down from the shelf in the spare room. It wasn’t as heavy as he expected, and on opening it, found it only held two books on a subject he could barely pronounce. Underneath were printouts from websites, cuttings from newspapers and magazines. The printouts and cuttings were all about him. Interviews, previews, reviews, photos, book signings. Everything from when Danny’s first story had been published.

Sara sat beside him, smiling as she lifted out more and more evidence of Alex’s careful attention to Danny’s career. “He’d make a terrific stalker.”

“Good job I know he’s not scary at all,” Danny said, brushing a hand over a publicity photo from before he had grown the beard. Christ he looked like such a kid.

“What’s this?” Sara asked, handing Danny a print out.

It wasn’t about him at all, or his books. It was a scholarly paper on traumatic brain injury to the left parietal. Danny blinked at it, hardly able to understand why _this_ was amongst a collection of stuff dating back years before Alex had been injured. It had been printed out more than two years ago.

He picked up the two books that had been at the top of the box, and took them to his computer to search for the terms. They were all about the physics of car accidents and impact injuries.

Sara came over to his desk. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He made an effort to smile. “What’s for supper?”

An hour later, John Daniel woke, which meant Alex would soon be awake too. Sara took her son away to feed him. Danny sat on the bed, stroking Alex’s face. His love turned into his hand and kissed it. “Love,” he said.

“Me too.” Danny walked over to the iPod they used for music and relaxation sounds in the bedroom, and selected brown and white noises. He turned it up louder than they usually used, then came back to help Alex sit up. He kept his voice low to ask a question. “Alex...you threw yourself under that car, didn’t you?”

Alex looked away. “Mad?”

“No. Did you?”

“Yes.”

“And you researched how to do it so your injury would be to your left parietal?”

“Yes. Escape. Had to. Dying. Only way to run.”

Danny’s chest hurt. “You threw yourself at a speeding car hoping to get the right kind of injury to get chucked out of their program?”

“Yes.”

“You could have died.”

Alex’s mouth worked. “Low risk.”

“Bullshit.”

“Worked?”

At what cost though? But as Danny looked at Alex, he realised something else. “You bloody _practiced._ didn’t you? You trained yourself to use your left hand, you did something to make your speech come back faster...you trained!”

“Yes.” Alex looked at him then. “Dying. Here.” He touched his chest. “No more. I...had no one. Nothing. Only you.”

“You did this for me.” Like Scottie?

“No. For me. Mad?”

Danny thought, then shook his head. “If you had died....”

Tears filled Alex’s eyes. “Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t live. So long. Too long. Waited, waited. No more.”

Danny hugged him, terrified and sad and so very, very grateful that Alex was here in his arms. “No more,” he whispered. “Never again.”

Alex stroked his hair. “No more. Love. Love Danny.”

_Love Alex._

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for a sequel took a while to come up with. I hope this is okay. Not beta'd, sorry. All comments, criticisms and corrections welcome!


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